


Gilded Gold

by pilindiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Brutality, Canon Compliant, Fighting, Hand to Hand Combat, Hurt/Comfort, Keith Refusing to Fight, M/M, Protective shiro, clone!shiro, keith pov, no one dies I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilindiel/pseuds/pilindiel
Summary: He can definitely see better without the clogging of his vision, but the soot sticks more fervently now to the roof of his mouth, dry like ash, and Keith coughs into the crook of his arm as he squints against the harshness. He can see a silhouette in the gloom, familiar muscle definition and strength, and moves towards him.“Shiro?”He isn't moving, but he doesn't look injured, and Keith ventures a step closer. “Shiro, come on. Let's go.”The dust clears, a dissipating haze, and Shiro turns to him.Only, this isn't Shiro.Prompt: Give.  Me.  Angst.





	Gilded Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commodorecliche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/gifts).



Reds and purples dance across Keith's armour as he sprints through the halls of the Galran ship, the unnatural Plasticine floor making his feet boom with every step. It was smart to split up – Keith kept the guards distracted while the rest of the team made it back to the castle, and now that the comms are full of victorious cheers, Keith lets some of the tension out of his muscles with a sigh.

The urge to run before trouble follows him is still there, an anxious pounding of his heart, but he allows himself a small smile all the same.

Mission successful.

“Hey,” Pidge asks, static reverberating through the headset, “Where's Shiro?”

Something shifts in an awful way – like the thickening of the air before lighting – and Keith pivots, turning back.

He tries to tell himself that it's nothing, that he's fine, that he's just not answering his comm, but instinct drives him onward and he tries not to let the panic rise too suddenly, like static up his neck.

There's a commotion in the room to his right and Keith doesn't even hesitate. Doesn't think. He tears past computers and wiring, knocks over chairs in his haste, and throws open the door.

The room is dark save for a pulsing green light in the corner and it's like there's soot in the air, thick and coating his throat. It sticks to his visor and with a stubborn glare Keith throws his helmet to the side, stepping further into the room.

He can definitely see better without the clogging of his vision, but the soot sticks more fervently now to the roof of his mouth, dry like ash, and Keith coughs into the crook of his arm as he squints against the harshness. He can see a silhouette in the gloom, familiar muscle definition and strength, and moves towards him.

“Shiro?”

He isn't moving, but he doesn't look injured, and Keith ventures a step closer. “Shiro, come on. Let's go.”

The dust clears, a dissipating haze, and Shiro turns to him.

Only, this isn't _**Shiro**_.

He's carrying himself differently, arrogant and venomous, and his smirk is too toothy, sickening and unnatural on Shiro's normally kind face.

The eyes though. The eyes are unmistakable. The whites are an unnatural gold, pupils disappearing behind a yellow so bright it's like the inside of a fire, flickering and hot and dangerous.

Something coils tight in Keith's chest, blistering and terrified and angry, and he pulls the black bayard out, the sheen of its steel sparkling in the light.

This fake Shiro, _**Clone**_ Shiro, doesn't have a weapon and Keith's counts himself lucky. He knows he's naturally faster, but Shiro has never tried to kill him before and the Clone's arm pulses menacing in the dark, bathing them in a nauseating violet glow.

 _ **It's not Shiro,**_  Keith reminds himself as he takes a breath, _ **It's not.**_

The moment is tense.  Silent.

And then it's all happening too fast.

The first strike is quick and Keith is staggered by the force behind it – he blocks the arm with his sword, clanging metal vibrating from the strength behind the attack.

Keith hastily takes a few steps in retreat but the Clone is fast, a flurry of jabs and strikes that Keith is just swift enough to block with his sword, just fast enough to deflect with an elbow. This Clone is wild; his attacks unreadable and frenzied and Keith barely keeps up, rolling out of the way of a swipe to his neck.

It's so close Keith feels the air hum with the power behind the Clone's arm, an electric buzz in his ears.

His fingers curl into his palm, ready to retaliate and gain an advantage, but his body won't listen, won't move like it's supposed to. Keith's fist stays firmly at his side and he jumps back instead, his heart hammering in his too-tight chest.

 _ **It's not him, it's not,**_ he chastises, grimacing at the way his knees are trembling. But it's no use.

He won't fight Shiro.

He can't.

Keith jumps back, trying to put some distance between them to get his bearings, but the Clone charges forward and Keith has barely enough time to raise his sword.

The ringing of metal against metal echoes throughout the room and the Clone grins, pushing against Keith's sword with inhuman strength.

“You're supposed to be the best fighter on the team,” he taunts, using Shiro's voice and Shiro's face and Keith tries so hard to remind himself that it's _**not right**_ even as his eyes burn, “So why are you holding back?”  
  
Keith's breath comes to him in sharp pants, but he shakes his head. “I'm not.”

It's a lie. They both know.

“Then you've sealed your fate.”

With a grunt the Clone shoves him back and Keith curses as he stumbles, trying to find his footing. It's too slow though, and with a pivot the Clone swings his Galra arm into Keith's side. The sharp snap of bone hits him before the pain, but when the pain _**does**_ hit, it stabs his lungs as he rolls across the floor like a rag-doll, his vision a violent smear of colour.

Even as his eyes fuzz around the edges, Keith doesn't get a moment's reprieve. The Clone is once more in his sight and Keith barely has enough time to stand before the attacks are back.

Keith dodges and deflects, and the Clone tries time and time again to jab at his side. One moment it’s a kick to the right, the other it’s the blur of purple towards his left before he shifts his weight and changes the pace. A quick stab to the right, a swift foot to the left and then another change-up. Keith is floundering, feet moving frantically and his breath is harsh and loud in his ears, his side throbbing with each gasp of air. The Clone moves so fast Keith's eyes can barely keep up, can’t tell when he's steadying himself or when he's springing forward.

Keith shifts his weight, his steps tottering and unsteady, and suddenly the Clone is in front of him, grin wide.

“Pathetic,” the Clone says.

The word knocks around in Keith's already addled head, strikes his heart with pinpoint accuracy, and Keith can't even argue. It is. This isn't Shiro, and yet Keith yields to every word as if it was.

The Clone moves to kick and Keith crosses his arms in front of his face in a hurry. It's enough to protect but Keith is no where near stable enough to take the full force of it and he slips. Stumbling, his sword flies from his grip and skitters across the floor, tinkling like glass. Pain blooms at Keith's side again, sharp and raw, and his scream dies in his throat as he staggers.

_**Pathetic.** _

Keith's back collides with the wall with such force it violently knocks the air from his lungs. His head cracks against the edge of the Galran ship and Keith can barely get his bearings before there's a hand at the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground.

Keith's legs dangle, heels hitting the wall, and he grips savagely at the Clone's hand, nails scraping against uncaring skin.

Shiro – not Shiro, this clone, this _**imposter**_ – raises his Galran arm and Keith barely registers its glow before it socks him in the jaw. The crack is deafening and Keith's vision whirls. Another punch, a blunt unrelenting force, collides with Keith's lip and metallic tang spills into his mouth as his skin splits open against the knuckles of the rough, alien tech.

Another blow strikes the side of his eye and Keith sees stars, pain shooting like lighting through his temples.

Keith loses count of how many places he gets hit – each punch feels raw and powerful, like a brick to his brain, and each impact sparks and crackles like lighting.

Keith spits, but nothing rids him of the tang of blood.

Every breath shoots spindles of pain through his chest and Keith tries to rationalize if he can continue fighting with his broken ribs. His grip on the Clone's arm is feeble, shoving with barely any pressure behind it.

The Clone's voice fills the space between them as Keith struggles to breathe, nails feebly digging into this Fake Shiro's arm. “How many times do I have to hurt you before this is over?”

Keith's left eye is swollen, a red, blooming welt, but he still manages to look the clone in his glowing yellow eyes. The world spins around him, but Keith feels strangely steady.

He can't even be mad – the Clone was made for this moment, to dismantle and destroy them from the inside out, and Keith was the easiest target.

His weakness is no secret.

Keith is reminded of words spoken by a door, of Shiro's smile through long bangs and greasy hair, and he can't stop the way a smile curls at his lips; small and pathetic.

“As...” Keith wheezes, blinks a few times, “As many times as it takes.”

There's something about the way the Clone's face falls, something about the way his glare turns from anger to an indescribable anguish that tugs at a thread in Keith's heart, unraveling him.

The imposter freezes, his Galra arm pulsing, and Keith feels the hand bunched up in his shirt begin to tremble.

There's a shout but it's muffled, by blood or by trauma, Keith isn't sure anymore, but it's definitely angry.

Protective.

A blur – black and white and _**fast**_ – barrels headfirst into the Clone Shiro's chest, sending him skidding across the floor with a surprised grunt.

Keith is released but he can't make his legs work fast enough and he falls hard, like a sack of rocks. The back of his head smacks against the wall, shooting sparks across his vision, and his broken rib punctures through his skin.

He inhales sharply and suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder, firm and reassuring. Keith catches his name in Shiro's voice, warbled and terrified.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” it says, “Just stay with me, okay?”

And Keith just whines, not that he has the strength to argue otherwise.

The clashing of metal against metal is muted over the sound of Keith's heartbeat. He thinks he hears his name a couple of times, hears the anxious lilt of a voice, but when he forces his eyes open all he sees is the flurried movements of two figures at the other end of the room, matched in every way except resolve. Their robotic arms glow purple and the blows they land send sparks flying and Keith can see it even when his eyes slip closed.

Keith pushes his head back against the wall – he can't hold it up on his own anymore – and every twitch sends needles through his body from the wound in his side, sharp and electric.

The world is spinning behind his eyelids and he can taste metal in his mouth, blood thick and hot sliding down from the cut above his swollen eye to his cracked lips.

He doesn't even realize the fighting is done until he hears a voice. Hears his name. It's distant, and it breaks on the vowels.

Keith's whole body wants to sink back into the floor and the wall, to let the tingling of his senses dull until he can't feel them anymore and he can just _**rest**_ , but his eyes still flutter open into slits, vision swimming.

The voice is closer now, clearer, and it's deep and soothing despite the panicked tone. It's familiar.

It's what _**home**_ sounds like.

“...hear me?” it pleads, and Keith's brain doesn't have to focus on it for long before his mouth is forming around a name.

“Shiro...”

A choked breath. A swallow. Shiro's face blurs into view – he looks just like Keith knows he's supposed to look, and even though his helmet visor is cracked, his expression is open and vulnerable and _**warm**_. He's worried too, his steel gray eyes are wide and frantic like they were during the Trials, assessing each of Keith's injuries and the purpling of his skin with every nervous flick. Keith tries to reach his hand out to him like he did back then, but the persistent throbbing of his muscles keeps him motionless.

 ** _Pathetic_** , he thinks again, a new sort of pain settling in his chest.

Shiro kneels down before him, trying to smile even though Keith can see the tension between his brows, and his non-robotic fingers brush across Keith's cheek. Keith turns his face into Shiro's palm, eyes drifting closed.

“Come on, Keith,” Shiro's swallow is audible, concerned, “I'm getting you out of here.”

Shiro doesn't bother asking him if he can walk and Keith is grateful for it; he isn't sure he could muster up the energy for an actual response. His whole body is tingling, like pins and needles but softer, and it's like he's falling even when Shiro slips his arms under him and lifts, cradling Keith against his chest.

Keith's head lolls against Shiro's shoulder and even as the sting in his side dulls and the world around him fuzzes, he still murmurs Shiro's name, a rasping prayer.

Shiro is all he can focus on, all that matters.

“Stay with me, Keith,” Shiro whispers urgently, his grip tight on Keith's limp body as he runs, “Stay with me.”

Keith wants to speak but his tongue feels thick and unwieldy, his mouth dry.

_**What are you talking about, Shiro? I'm always –** _

Darkness seeps into his vision and Keith passes out, lulled by the steady beat of Shiro's heart and the quiet, desperate cursing under Shiro's breath.

“ _ **Keith!”**_

 

**Author's Note:**

> My friends insist I killed Keith but I swear he's just unconscious.
> 
> I swear.


End file.
